


Fides

by whaddup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaddup/pseuds/whaddup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows sleeping around with a married man can’t be good. Still, he doesn’t stop hoping Draco will leave her for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fides

**Author's Note:**

> Warning/s: Theme of Infidelity, Swearing, Implied Unprotected Sex, Jealousy
> 
> Author’s Notes: I’ve been on a writing break for more than two years. This story was just supposed to be 3-4k words long but it turned to be 7k, making it my longest one-shot fic to write. I’m just trying to see if I can still narrate a story properly because there’s another one in my mind that I want to be absolute perfect. Unbeta-ed. I’m the only one who edited this so I’m pretty sure errors abound. Please let me know in the comments what you think. Thank you.

-

 

Harry woke to rustling of the sheets. A figure was hunched at the foot of his bed. In the dim light from the street lights outside, he swore Draco’s skin gives off an ethereal glow.

 

“Hey,” he croaked, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand.

 

“Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet.” Draco straightened and turned slightly towards him. “I can’t find my other sock.” He held up his right hand. In it was a sole black sock.

 

Harry sat a little straighter, not minding the sheets against his naked form. “It’s ten in the evening, Draco,” he said, yawning as he checked the clock. “You don’t need to go home until tomorrow. Just go back to bed. Your sock can wait in the morning.” Harry lay back down.

 

Draco slid back into bed, his hand touching Harry all the while. “I know. But I think Astoria knows I’m having an affair, Harry.” He was looking at Harry’s eyes now, his hands cupping the sides of his face. Did he notice the faint glimmer of hurt in Harry’s eyes?

 

Harry shook his head slightly, closing his eyes. He can do this. It’s been four years since he and Draco started seeing each other clandestinely. He should really start learning. He reminded himself to breathe. “Okay. Go,” he sighed. He gathered the sheets around his waist as Draco stood up. He walked over to the chair with Draco’s pants and shirt, casting a quick cleaning and straightening spell on them. Draco was rummaging around still looking for his other sock.

 

“Found it!” Draco said triumphantly, straightening from under the bed. In his hand was the other sock.

 

“Get dressed, you dummy.” Harry tossed him his shirt and pants, after making sure they didn’t smell funny. He would never tell Draco this but the thought of leaving his scent on Draco’s clothes after a night of being fucked by him had crossed his mind many times before. But just as he was careful not to leave hickeys or any other marks on Draco’s body, he knew better than that.

 

Lately, it has been like this. Their nights would be cut shorter and shorter. On many occasions, Draco insisted that he should go home back to Astoria after spending a couple of hours with Harry, said Astoria seemed to be catching up, asking questions. More than once, Harry noticed a faint glimmer of a Glamour charm fading from Draco’s person when he enters Harry’s flat. He pretended not to notice. It was easier this way. Some nights, though, he wondered how many times in four years has Draco been wearing charms when he comes to him.

 

“Are you sure you can’t stay the night?” Harry purred, lining his body against Draco. He knew how much it turned Draco on when he takes Harry rough from behind with his suit on and Harry naked and tender beneath him.

 

He felt Draco stiffen, his eyes closing with arousal. At least, he can still do this much to Draco. He turned around and faced Harry. His lips caught Harry’s in a hurried but deep kiss. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, letting the sheets fall to the floor. Draco groaned and broke off the kiss. “I really can’t. You know I want to. I really do but she’s waiting.”

 

Harry pouted. Fine, he’ll take what he can. After all, he knew he can’t get everything from Draco. That much was clear when this whole affair started. Over the years, he had let the well of hope within him dry up. Well, until weekly Friday nights with Ron, Hermione, and wine, that is.

 

“Just fuck me, then.” Harry looked up at Draco from beneath his long lashes. Draco’s eyes darkened. Harry started gyrating his hips against Draco’s clothed crotch. “You don’t even have to take your clothes off. Just fuck me one more time before you leave, Draco.”

 

In a sense, he knew what Draco will do a moment before he’s suddenly flipped over and tossed into the bed.

 

-

 

It started, quite ironically, at Draco and Astoria’s wedding.

 

Harry Potter had been surprised to have received an invitation to the ceremony, which was dubbed to be “The Wedding of the Year” by Witch Weekly, Yes Magic, and even The Quibbler. Everywhere, witches and wizards liked to talk about the upcoming social event. Harry, on more than one occasion, had heard people speculate that dragons would somehow be involved in the affair. Despite Malfoy’s love for grandeur, Harry sincerely doubted that is true.

 

Certainly, this was just a formality. He and Malfoy had never really been close, not even after the war. They’d pass each other on Ministry corridors but other than exchanging polite nods, they had never shared even a word between them. A few Ministry galas and balls made them cross paths more often, with Harry still being The Boy (he wondered if people will still call him that when his hair starts greying) and Malfoy being, well,  _Malfoy_.

 

“Harry!” He heard Hermione’s voice coming from his living room. Taking the envelope with him, he crouched in front of the fireplace. Hermione looked frantic. Frankly, balancing the weight of running the entire Magical Law Enforcement Department with dealing with a five-year olddaughter and a three-year-old son and dealing with an Auror-in-Training husband while trying to do two researches at the same time would do that to anyone. But Harry had seen Hermione through several final exams, surviving days without food or sleep, and she had not been this unhinged ever.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asked as he squatted down, frowning at a rectangular piece of paper that Hermione is shoving into his face.

 

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “Well, we just got an invitation to Malfoy’s wedding. What do you make of that?”

 

“I did, too!” Harry said, brandishing his invitation as well. He supposed it was weird for the three of them to be invited, seeing as they never really reconciled after the War ended. Besides the stiff introductions at gatherings and trips, they didn’t actively try to seek the other party out. The trio and Malfoy just went on different paths and neither party bothered to look back. Not when there’s so much they all need to forget.

 

Harry heard Rose shouting instructions at Hugo, and Hermione covered her eyes with her hand for a moment. Thinking he hadn’t really seen his best friends’ kids in awhile, he asked, “Wanna come over? Bring the kids.”

 

Hermione sighed with relief. “Thanks. I was trying to read new reports while trying to feed the kids but Hugo doesn’t want to eat his cereals unless the ones on the spoon are all the same color.” Hermione’s face disappeared for a moment but Harry can still hear her calling Rose and Hugo. “We’re coming through.”

 

Harry stood back as emerald flames erupted and three soot-covered silhouettes emerged from his fireplace.

 

“Uncle Harry!” a small figure screamed as Rose barrelled into Harry’s legs and held on tightly. “We’ve missed you. Didn’t we, Hugo?”

 

Hugo, who was holding his mother’s hand with his left and sucking on the thumb of his right hand, nodded enthusiastically. He tugged free from Hermione’s grasp and ran to hug Harry’s other leg.

 

Harry looked down and saw two almost-identical grinning faces looking at him. “How about you give Uncle Harry a proper hug?” He crouched down and was immediately assaulted by the siblings until he tickled them both. He saw Hermione shake her head fondly as she waved her wand over her children to remove all soot from their clothes and body.

 

“How are you?” Harry asked, moving to kiss Hermione on the cheek and finding out the two had clung onto his legs once more. Sighing, he picked the giggling kids, hoisted them over his shoulders and dumped them on his couch. He heard Hermione shuffling in his kitchen and cried out, “I made a fresh pot of tea, if you want some.” He Transfigured his coffee table into a miniature tea dining table set for three, waving Rose and Hugo to sit down around it with him.

 

“I can’t believe Malfoy invited us to his wedding. I mean, it’s Malfoy we’re talking about,” Hermione said, sitting on an armchair with a stack of paper on her hands. “Ron thinks Malfoy thinks it’s good publicity for him if the three of us actually show up. Like, we’re finally past what happened during the War.”

 

Well, it had been years after the War. Trials were conducted, perpetrators had been caught, and the Wizarding World had finally progressed. Maybe it  _is_ time to show everyone how mature they’ve all been after all these years. Maturity does seem appropriate given their age. But playing tea time with his godchildren doesn’t quite sit with that. Harry shrugged internally. Rose is teaching Hugo to hold his teacup with his pinky out. There are far weirder things, he reckoned.

 

“And, it wouldn’t hurt if we did attend  _The Wedding of the Year_ , you know,” Hermione continued. Harry could hear the capitalized words in that sentence. He figured it would be actually cool to go to a fancy ceremony. He knew for a fact that well-to-do purebloods like the Malfoys would go all-out on an event like this. After all, The Big Proposal took over the global wizarding community for months, and certainly, the bride had made plans for the wedding long before she could even attend Hogwarts. They are purebloods, after all.

 

“We could all go. If Ron’s okay with it, that is,” Harry supplied, accepting the imaginary tea Rose graciously pours.

 

Hermione shifted, adjusting the papers she’s reading. “I think we’d all go just to see how the elite throw parties,” she said honestly. Harry just hummed in agreement.

 

“Uncle Harry,” Rose protested, “your pinky  _should_ be out!”

 

-

 

They’d been at it for three years now.

 

At first, they had asked each other out for a couple of drinks. But they both knew it was just an innocent excuse for the bouts of infidelity that followed such excursions.

 

Harry could not count the number of times he’d been ordered to go on his knees inside a cubicle of whatever Muggle bar they’ve chosen for the night. He could not remember how many times he rode Draco’s cock while he sat on the toilet, thrusting hurriedly and moaning dirtily into his neck. Once, he’d even crawled underneath their table to suck Draco’s cock. It had been exciting, the thrill of choking on a man’s dick while the floor pounded beneath him with the club’s digital music.

 

They told themselves it was the alcohol that made them do it. They both refused to think about it any longer than necessary, any longer than it took them to convince themselves that this is nothing but sex between two consenting adults, even if one of them was married. They weren’t so big on morals, not when Harry took Draco so far into his mouth that Draco could feel the convulsions in his throat when Harry swallowed. Not when Draco comes on Harry’s face with his name on his lips as Harry pumped himself to completion. Not when Harry had no qualms about being taken raw and bareback because neither of them remembered to bring condoms some nights. They told themselves it was the alcohol that made them do it. It didn’t matter if, most of the time, they haven’t even taken two gulps of beer before heading to the men’s loo. It didn’t matter if, most of the time, their drinks would be untouched for the rest of the night. It didn’t matter if, most of the time, alcohol was never involved anyway.

 

Then, one night, he asked Draco if they could go to Harry’s flat. He saw Draco’s jaw clench tightly for a second. They both knew Harry’s request, although a seemingly-common one for their “relationship,” meant something more than harried fucks inside a dimly-lit, dingy pub. Harry thought they’d certainly be over. After all, Draco  _is_ a married man, no matter how much filth he whispered into Harry’s ear as he takes him rough from behind on some nights. And taking  _this_ , whatever this is, into Harry’s flat would mean taking this into a new level Harry is sure they’re both quite on the fence on.

 

But Draco stood up and grabbed his coat, gesturing for Harry to lead the way. He must have failed to hide his surprise quite considerably as Draco smirked. “Scared, Potter?”

 

He knew he was officially done for. There was no mistaking the challenge he saw in Draco’s eyes. And, like everything involving him and Draco, he knew he couldn’t back down. Not even if he wanted. Especially if he didn’t want to.

 

“You wish.”

 

-

 

_The Manor is elegant as fuck._

That’s how Harry described it in his head anyway, as he stepped out of the fireplace. The room they’re in is like a receiving area of sorts, with fireplaces spreading out on either side of his. It was a cavernous space, lit up by floating orbs of light, punctuated with twinkling fairy lights. Near the ceiling are clear windows that allowed the guests to see the clear night sky.

 

“May I be taking your coat, Mister?” a tiny voice squeaked to his right. A house elf in clean white garments stood to the side, bowing a little, her ears drooping slightly. Harry was surprised this surprised him. Of course, Malfoy would have thousands of elves to serve at his wedding. He hoped Hermione wouldn’t be too affronted by this, he thought quickly, shrugging out of his coat. Despite the number of working fireplaces in the room, it wasn’t too uncomfortable or stuffy.

 

The house elf led him down the hall, to an opened door leading to the main hall. “Er, thanks,” Harry said, beaming at the house elf who squeaked and Vanished instantly. He hoped he didn’t scare her away. A few moments later, Ron and Hermione joined him.

 

“Harry, can you believe this?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the Floo Room. Both Harry and Ron winced, steeling themselves for a night of being told how horrible and unjust the house elves are being trea            ted, even in a progressive society. “I never thought I would say this but,” she said slowly, “these house elves look genuinely happy and clean.” Only when she smiled at the two did they realize what she meant. Hermione looked as though she couldn’t believe what she said. “Well, they do. I certainly hope Malfoy did learn his lesson,” she said firmly, a reddish tinge coloring her cheeks.

 

Unconsciously, he tried to reconcile the Manor from his memories of the War with the newly-rebuilt one. Gone were the dusty panes of windows, or the ominous chandelier with snake-shaped bulbs, or the sticky marble floor. In their place are wide, arching windows, crystal chandeliers that changed colors every few minutes subtly, and scrubbed tiled floors. Through a window, Harry could see a sprawling garden and what might have looked like an ice sculpture of the couple in a fountain.

 

Of course, the Restoration of the Malfoy heritage Manor had been news for months. Harry had read in the Quibbler that huge chunks of the Manor had been completely blasted off and renovated, as part of the “efforts to bring forth a new era of peace.” Apparently, this is true, judging by the ambience of tranquillity and silent excitement in the air.

 

The week before, Ron had Firecalled Harry late at night. He said he was worried that Hermione may have to relive some horrible memories of the War and that maybe it was not such a good idea to attend the wedding. Harry knew what his best friend meant. Sometimes, he could still hear Hermione’s screams reverberating loudly when Bellatrix tortured her. He’d always wake up drenched in cold sweat and would call Hermione the next day to see if she was okay.

 

The other day, when he and Hermione got around to talking, Harry brought it up. Well, since he had always been socially inept, he just hinted at it and waited until she caught up. Apparently, she and Ron had discussed the matter, too, a few nights ago. She touched his arm fondly. “Harry, I’ll be fine. It’s time I replace those memories with recent happy ones in that house.” Harry sputtered and Hermione just laughed it off. “Thanks,” she said, coming up to him and hugging him.

 

That was that.

 

The ceremony was quite short and formal, unlike Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding. The purebloods held themselves in a manner of formality and discipline Harry was sure had been ingrained into their very DNA from the moment they were conceived. Sometimes, they joked about whether they were allowed to cry as babies, or if they simply asked for food or be changed in proper tones.

 

Astoria looked stunning in a lace bodice gown with stones set in an exquisite style. Harry had heard that the Greengrass had a bit of Veela in their blood, and he would not be surprised if they did indeed. She and her sister walked delicately to the aisle, smiling warmly at those who came. Her gloved hand actually squeezed Harry’s arm when she walked by him, and under those eyes, he  _blushed_. They didn’t  _even_ know each other and Harry acted like a schoolgirl with a silly crush. On the  _bride_  of all people. At her own wedding of all times.

 

Malfoy wore one of the sharpest and finest suits Harry had ever seen. No doubt, it cost him quite a fortune. But, knowing Malfoy, Harry didn’t even suspect that the prat felt a dent in his enormous money pocket. His hair was a little longer, styled so that strands framed his face quite handsomely. He certainly filled out nicely, no longer the pointy git he had been when they were younger. He took Astoria’s arm when she reached him and applause broke out.

 

Throughout the ceremony, Harry kept catching Malfoy glancing his way. Apparently, he didn’t think the Trio would  _actually_ come, even though they had RSVP’d as the invitation said. Harry found himself fidgeting nervously in his seat. These dress robes Mrs. Weasley bought him a few weeks ago is certainly uncomfortable but even George said he looked absolutely ravishing, with a wink. Harry couldn’t look at him for a few days after that without reddening in the face.

 

He came out to the Weasleys a few years before. It was after he and Ginny had fallen out.

 

The break-up wasn’t major or overdramatic. They just both knew the spark or whatever between them was gone. One night, they just decided to break it off, no need to drag the entire affair for too long. There were a few tears but it had been pretty anticlimactic, really. Ron sulked for about an hour when he lost a bet against Charlie, crying out to Harry that he couldn’t have even tried to throw a plate at his sister. The rest of the Weasleys didn’t mind, as long as they’re both happy.

 

Then, on his 27th birthday, he decided to tell them that he fancied blokes. He’d known for some time then. He had a few trysts here and there, testing the waters when Luna vaguely hinted at it, and found out that he enjoyed it in a way dating girls never had been. Being gay in the Wizarding World isn’t as frowned upon as it is in most parts of the Muggle World but it isn’t openly endorsed either. When the silence stretched on for quite a few moments after his announcement, he felt his heart sink. It felt as though he’d lost another family. Then, as if coming out of a stupor, the silence was broken with babbles of congratulations and a couple of “I knew it!” statements, one coming from Ginny herself, making Harry redden in the face. Then, without missing another beat, the celebration continued.

 

Malfoy and Astoria had just finished telling their brief but meaningful vows. Then the minister, in her firm tone, announced them husband and wife. Sparks flew down from the ceiling, raining upon the newly-wed couple, as the room erupted in applause. Real, live fairies began singing and throwing sparkling fairy dust on everyone, wishing for a merry lifetime.

 

Harry did not see dragons.

 

 

Harry cannot remember when it turned from fucking to making love. Harry cannot remember when a spare toothbrush made it into his bathroom cabinet. He cannot remember when a handful of button-downs appeared inside his closet. He cannot remember when he began thinking they even had a chance at this.

 

He just remembers feeling. When Draco takes him on his back, it takes every ounce of restraint not to surrender to the primal feeling of being taken but instead to focus on the ever-moving lips above him. Sometimes, he can read what Draco’s saying. Sometimes, it’s just a litany of curses as he buries himself deep into Harry’s body but sometimes, it looks like an unending prayer as he holds Harry’s hands above him. Harry had always known it is wrong but he cannot stop himself from believing Draco’s praying for him never to leave him, that Draco’s praying to the gods above for time to turn back so he can un-marry Astoria and find bliss in Harry’s arms. Harry had always known Draco is bad luck for him but when he fucks Harry until he’s pliant and tender, Harry knows there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

 

Sometimes, he wished Draco feels the same way.

 

Tonight, his head is rested on Draco’s lap as a documentary on penguins played on the telly. Draco would ever admit it out loud but he is a sucker for television. Just the other day, Harry caught him watching a re-run of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. while stuffing his face with popcorn. He swore he saw, even for a moment, a flicker of fear in Draco’s face before he subdued it into a condescending expression. He put his hands up in surrender and sat down next to him as Ross said Rachel’s name instead of Emily’s.

 

Yawning, Draco roused Harry from his semi-nap. “Harry, let’s go to bed.” He leaned in and kissed Harry’s forehead, waving his hand to turn the telly off and dim the lights. Harry just snuggled closer and pouted.

 

“Carry me, then,” Harry grumbled. Draco’s warm and he smelled so good. If he’s gonna move, then Draco’s gotta move him. No way he’s expending all that energy. Then, he felt himself being hoisted rather unceremoniously onto Draco’s back. He was about to say something but figured riding piggy back is not so bad.

 

“Good thing you’re a small bugger. I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you were the size of Goyle,” Draco grumbled under his breath.

 

Harry smacked the back of his head. “You won’t shag me if I’m that big,” he retorted. Instead of replying, Draco dumped him on the bed. Sitting up on his elbows, Harry pondered, “What if he  _does_  like to take it up the arse?”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow.

 

“I mean, how could he ever lift his legs over his shoulders?” Harry thought out loud. He saw a shudder go through Draco as an unbidden mental image of Goyle in compromising positions broke to the surface of his mind.

 

“Only you would think of that,” Draco said, miming gagging. Harry threw a pillow at him. He knew how fond Draco is of Goyle, and in Malfoy-tongue, that’s saying something.

 

Harry shrugged. “I’m sure, if he wants it enough, he’ll find a way.”

 

Draco snuggled up to him so they were facing each other. “Can we stop thinking of Goyle? I’d rather not have that mental image before going to sleep. I’m gonna have nightmares.”

 

“Hey, you brought him up,” Harry protested.

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, “I was just wondering how my back would react if you weighed like a stone gargoyle, you prat.” He lay on his back.

 

“Right. Because you’d never even look twice at me if I were fat.” Harry turned his back to Draco and spelled the lights out.

 

He felt Draco’s hands snaking up his arms, wrapping them around him and pulling him snugly into his chest. “I think I would. I really do.” Draco was whispering into Harry’s ear as he rocked them both gently. “You could be two inches tall and I’d still want you, Harry.” Draco spooned him and talked to Harry in a soft voice all night long.

 

Harry fell asleep to the sounds of Draco’s promises. He had forgotten he knows he shouldn’t.

 

-

 

If you ask Ron about the food on Malfoy’s wedding, he’d tell you he cannot remember. He’d been too embarrassed to admit that he’d almost eaten his way into a coma until Hermione had to magically restrain him to his chair just to stop him from getting another plate. It had been that delicious.

 

Even Hermione who was never a big fan of exotic food said that the variety of choices is remarkable. She’d bored Harry and Ron as she listed the names of the food on each table, none of which either Harry or Ron could ever dream of pronouncing.

 

“I don’t get it why they have to put so many vowels in there. It’s just food. You shouldn’t spend half a minute trying to say its name. You just eat it,” Ron explained to Harry who nodded emphatically. He had eaten so much that he’d been afraid his stomach would be too big and the already-uncomfortable dress robes would rip. He had been so glad the three of them opted to have their photos taken when they arrived.

 

All around them, the general clamor of chatter can be heard. A quartet is playing a song and a bunch of uptight people are dancing on the floor. Harry thought they were quite pompous but he cannot deny that it’s amazing how these people from all over the world know the same steps to the same dance. It must be a rich pureblood thing, he reckoned. He couldn’t picture Ron doing these twirls and jumps. It’s too hilarious.

 

He saw the newly-wed going around tables, chatting with their guests and making small talk. Astoria had changed into something lighter but just as beautiful as her wedding dress but Malfoy didn’t bother to change at all. He’d left his tux at their table and roamed the hall with his wife in a white long sleeve. Harry glanced at the pair of snake cufflinks Malfoy’s wearing; they certainly look elegant on him.

 

“Oh, Mr. Potter, we’re so happy you can come,” Astoria said, taking Harry’s hand when the couple reached their table. He flustered a bit.

 

Then, Malfoy cleared his throat. “Darling, these are Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Weasley nee Granger, my acquaintances from Hogwarts,” Malfoy said. Acquaintances, huh? Good enough. He took Hermione’s hand and kissed it. Harry wondered if he should have kissed Astoria’s hand awhile ago. He figured it wouldn’t do for him to grab it now and kiss it hastily now, would it?

 

Ron glowered at Malfoy. “Congratulations and best wishes for your marriage,” he gritted out. Harry kicked him lightly in the shins. Certainly, Malfoy didn’t kiss Hermione’s hand to annoy them. He watched him do it to every lady in the room, married or not, young or old. He’d tell Ron that when the couple moves on. Or not. Ron certainly would wonder how come he’s eyeing the groom all night long. As much as he loves Ron, he could not bring himself to admit to his best friend that the pointy git had grown into quite a handsome man. That would certainly scar Ron for life.

 

Hermione chatted with Astoria lightly and complimented them on the decorations and the food. They talk about Astoria’s wedding dress which was simply divine, then moved on to the topic of politics and careers easily, as though they’d known each other for quite some time. The three men looked uncomfortable, with no topic to discuss on. Harry wondered if Quidditch would be an appropriate topic but he figured it was a lousy one anyway so he shut his mouth. He certainly thought Malfoy had taken Conversation and Etiquette 101 when he was a kid but apparently, he didn’t.

 

“Your tux looks good?” Ron offered, a slight grimace on his features. Harry applauded his friend mentally for his bravado. Draco smiles slightly and thanks him. They’re silent once more.

 

-

 

Harry discovered that Draco really liked cooking. Sometimes, he’d go out and when he came back, Draco’s turned his kitchen into a warzone. The countertop was filled with partially chopped stuff he doesn’t even remember buying. All his pots were out and he can practically hear his burner whine from all the abuse from Draco.

 

Draco really liked cooking but it usually ends in a disaster. Harry had tried to like Draco’s cooking the first few times but a man still has his limits. He knew Draco knew he was lying when he told him that the chicken-that-looked-like-a-gnarled-tree-stump thing tasted good. But they kept the pretense for a while until they nearly both got food poisoning from eating a noodle dish Draco swore he saw on the telly. More than once, they rung Chinese takeaway once the smoke cleared. But that does not stop Draco from cooking.

 

He explained to Harry one night as they ate the roast beef Harry had just managed to salvage with a few potatoes and several steam charms his obsession with trying to cook. As expected, Lucius had never let precious Draco do any chores growing up. Not that he liked cleaning up or doing the laundry and the dishes, but he had always thought that cooking was fun. And, even with the most severe punishment he could think of as a child, not one of the house elves they had allowed him inside the kitchen, even to watch. “Basically,” he told Harry, “I’m just trying to get my childhood back.”

 

“Believe me, you’re not missing out on much if you want to do chores,” Harry said. He had yet to tell Draco about the Dursleys and his childhood. “They’re not really fun.”

 

Draco shrugged. “Maybe you could teach me?”

 

Harry raised his eyebrow at that. “You want me to teach you how to do chores,” he said flatly.

 

“It can’t be that hard.” Draco considered for a moment. “Maybe it  _can_  be hard but I’ll learn.” He looked determined and Harry couldn’t resist leaning to kiss him on the nose.

 

“You know, for an excellent Potions maker, you actually suck at cooking,” Harry said, taking his plate to the sink. “You’d have to agree that despite all the shitstorms I brewed under Snape’s nose, you love my cooking,” he teased when Draco joined him.

 

Draco splashed him with cold water. “Shut up, Potter.”

 

-

 

Harry had no idea why or how it happened, but here he was, in a dimly lit sitting room of sorts in a fighting match with Malfoy. He could swear he was just looking for the toilets when he stumbled here where Malfoy was supposedly  _not-hiding_. Harry took a deep breath, ready to shout a response back at the seething gorgeous blond before him when lips crashed into his.

 

If he was wondering how they began fighting, maybe he should be worrying about how that turned into passionate kissing. But, God, those lips and those hands, warm and searching and so welcome kept his mind occupied elsewhere. He was moving backwards, Malfoy deliciously crowding into him until the small of his back hit a surface. Without breaking the kiss, Malfoy lifted him up easily onto it. Harry wrapped his legs eagerly around Malfoy’s waist, tugging the blond closer with his tie.

 

“We shouldn’t do this,” Harry moaned into Malfoy’s lips, arching as he felt hot palms against his hips.

 

Malfoy nodded. “We really shouldn’t,” he agreed breathlessly, sucking Harry’s bottom lip noisily. Harry whimpered as his hands tangled themselves in Malfoy’s hair. Lapping at Harry’s neck, his hands ghosted over his hardening nipples. He’s openly humping against Harry’s legs and he’d be damned if the feel of Malfoy’s hard cock didn’t make him want to drop into his knees and suck the bastard off. “You looked so ravishing tonight,” he said, palming Harry through his clothes.

 

It took a few seconds before Harry connected what Malfoy said to all the stares he’d been getting from the blond during the wedding.  _His_  wedding. This is so wrong. Malfoy began unbuttoning his shirt as he licked stripes up and down Harry’s neck, making him shiver with want. Harry opened his mouth to tell Malfoy having sex with a man on his wedding night is wrong on so many levels but what came out was, “Fuck me now.”

 

As they resumed kissing, a thought brushed against Harry’s mind before it was replaced with images of Malfoy bending him over and fucking him senseless.

 

_They were both screwed._

 

-

 

Harry leaned into Damian’s arm as they trudged up the stairs into his flat. They were beyond drunk and Harry couldn’t keep his hands from cupping Damian through his tight black jeans. Fuck, decorum. They’re drunk and horny.

 

When they reached the landing, Damian pushed him against the wall and started kissing him passionately, his hands coming to rest on Harry’s hips. Harry canted into his warmth, feeling Damian’s impressive length against his leg. He carded his hands through Damian’s hair and let him ravage his neck with his wicked tongue. He can’t wait to have his ass eaten tonight.

 

“Wait,” Harry laughed. Damian grinned at him, hair messy and lips swollen. “Let’s take it inside. I don’t think the neighbors would fancy seeing you fucking me in the hall.” As he tried to open the door to his flat, Damian wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, whispering the filthy things he’ll do to Harry (all of which he had no objections to) and grinding his crotch into Harry’s arse. He couldn’t help if he pushed back against it a little.

 

Opening the door, Harry turned to Damian and began kissing him again, unbuttoning his shirt in order to feel the other man’s abs. Damian was trying to undo Harry’s belt with one hand while his other tried to get inside to squeeze Harry’s arse. Harry was pushing the shirt off Damian’s shoulders just as his pants fell around his ankles. He was on his knees a second later when the lights switched on. He stood up quickly as he saw Malfoy a few feet away, his wand raised and his eyes burning.

 

“What the hell, Malfoy?” he screamed, pulling his pants up and standing between Damian and the blond. He noticed Malfoy was breathing heavily and his face was red.

 

Malfoy looked like a feral animal. “Get away from Harry, you lowly bastard,” Malfoy gritted through his teeth, pointing his wand at Damian’s face who buttoned up his shirt. “And take your hands off him,” he snapped, seeing the other man’s hands on Harry’s waist. Red sparks flew out from the end of his wand.

 

“Maybe you should go, Damian,” Harry said, squeezing the man’s arm without taking his eyes off Malfoy. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He felt Damian hesitate behind him. “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just go. I can deal with this.” Damian’s lips were hot against his shoulder and he saw Malfoy’s hand tighten his grip on his wand. With that, Damian left.

 

When the door closed behind Damian, Harry stomped off into his bedroom. He heard Malfoy’s footsteps behind him. “What the hell was that, Malfoy?” he shouted, turning around the blond. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

 

Malfoy visibly tensed. “I was waiting for you all night,” he shouted back, letting the rage and frustration work their way around his body. He was tingling with anger. “I was waiting for you and then you come home with a fucking man,” he yelled.

 

“This is my apartment, Malfoy. I can do whatever, or whoever, I want in here,” Harry countered. “Why do you care?” Harry asked angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you? I go to clubs and take men home with me. What’s the big deal?” Harry screamed in frustration and threw a vase at Malfoy.

 

Malfoy stowed his wand away. “I just,” Malfoy began, “can’t imagine you with anyone else.”

 

Harry laughed hollowly. “Of course there’ll be someone else, Malfoy. I cannot keep waiting on you to get away with your wife every night. So you think we’re exclusive? News flash, you’re married,” Harry seethed. “There are single men out there who would be more than willing to take me home to their flat, instead of fucking me inside a cubicle. You can’t expect me to stop wanting to have sex in an actual bed, rather than sucking you off in dark alleys.” Malfoy cowered.  _Good._

 

Malfoy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Fuck it, Potter. I know it’s stupid but I want you for myself,” he shouted back. “God, just the thought of another man touching you and kissing you and fucking you and taking you home.  _I_  want to take you home, fuck you on a bed until you can’t walk, then kiss you over and over. And other people can give you that. I can’t because I’m fucking married. It’s driving me insane.” He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath. He looked up at Harry. “ _You’re_ driving me insane.”

 

In the seconds it took them to kiss hungrily, they both knew how screwed they were.

 

-

 

When Harry told Hermione about him and Draco, they’d been seeing each other for about fifteen months. At this point, they had developed a routine. Two or three times a week, Draco told Astoria that he’d be spending the night either at work or with Goyle. He told Harry that she would never check on him, and if she did, Goyle knows what to do. Draco didn’t tell him what he told his friend, if he told him the truth about Harry. Truthfully, he’s scared to know.

 

Hermione sat quiet for a solid five minutes, a full cup of tea in her hands. Harry prepared himself for being berated by his friend, reminded of all the ways this is just plain wrong. He emptied the room almost of things that can be thrown at his head like vases and picture frames just in case. Unblinkingly, Hermione just stared at him. Harry was prepared to handle wrath. He was not prepared for this.

 

“Um, Hermione?” he asked softly.

 

Hermione blinked. “What?”

 

“I said I’m sleeping with Draco for more than a year now.” Harry knew the moment the words slipped out of him that these were more direct than the ones he used awhile ago but his lack of subtlety jolted Hermione awake apparently.

 

She sloshed almost half of her tea on herself, jerking so quickly that Harry thought she was having a seizure. “You call him Draco?” Hermione said, slowly, her eyes widening.

 

 _And of course she picks up on that one_ , Harry thought bitterly. Slowly, he nodded. “I know he’s married and all but he makes me happy. You’ll probably tell me I’m a stupid cow for getting into this when I know it can only end badly. I know.” He took a deep breath, looking Hermione in the eye. “I tried, Hermione. Really, I did,” he croaked, furious at how emotional he’s getting. He didn’t count on this one, too.

 

Hermione just sighed. “You’re barely scratching the surface there of the horribleness of this, Harry.” She placed a hand over his. “I think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’re just scared of admitting even to yourself how far gone you really are.”

 

Harry nodded. Of course he knew. That does not mean it’s any easier to accept.

 

 

“He’s never gonna leave her, is he?”

 

Hermione looked at Harry over her notes. Setting them down, she threw a look at her husband. “What happened, Harry?” she asked softly.

 

Harry blew into his cup a few times before answering. “It’s just that I thought they’d be divorced by now, you know? Draco did say he wants to be with me,” Harry said mournfully. He set down his tea. “I’m sorry. This is just all rather cocked-up.”

 

Ron hit him gently on the arm. “Maybe he’s still thinking how to tell her about this. Purebloods, especially the rich ones, are not too fond of divorces, you see. Many consider it bad luck. That’s part of the reason why so many of them grow old evil and cranky. They stick out with their spouses, even the arranged ones, just to keep the divorce wizards away,” Ron explained thoughtfully.

 

“I know. That’s what he told me the other times, too,” Harry sighed. He told Ron and Hermione that Draco didn’t explicitly tell him he’d divorce her. He told Harry that he’s finding a way around it. The moment he saw Hermione’s face when he told them this, he knew everything was messed up. “I don’t want to grow old and be referred to as A Male Version of A Mistress.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione cooed. “I don’t think Draco’s ready yet.” She doesn’t have to remind him that until now, Draco refuses to take Harry out to dinner where other people can see them. She knew Draco had always declined Harry’s offers to go to pubs unless there are at least one other person there besides Ron and Hermione. She knew what this means. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry just yet.

 

They sat in silence. Sometime in the night, Ron brought out a bottle of Firewhiskey. At around two in the morning, Harry had passed out in their couch, mumbling Draco’s name.

 

-

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch Draco’s eyes in the mirror. “I thought Astoria’s with her family for the weekend?” he asked quietly.

 

Shrugging, Draco worked on his tie for a few seconds before replying. “I thought so, too. But apparently, she wasn’t feeling too well so she decided to stay at home. This is the fourth time she woke up feeling nauseous. I’d better take her to St. Mungo’s just in case it’s a bad case of something,” Draco said, without glancing at Harry.

 

Harry hummed in response. “Will you come back before dinner? I could cook something up,” he offered.

 

Draco just shook his head. “I’ll probably stay at home for the night, make sure she’s okay,” he answered. “I’ll go, then,” he said, picking up his briefcase at the foot of the bed.

 

Harry had half-expected Draco to turn to him before he went, give him a quick peck on the lips like he used to. These past few weeks, he felt Draco growing further away from him each time. He leapt up and kissed Draco on the cheek. “Good bye, Draco,” he said, cupping Draco through his trousers and grinning at him.

 

“Not now, Harry. I really have to go,” Draco drawled, moving his head away as Harry tried to kiss him on the lips. “I’ll make up to you when I come back. I promise.” Harry didn’t fall for that one, the way he did for the last fifty of them.

 

He blocked Draco’s path playfully, feeling his heart clench painfully somewhere in his chest as he saw him sigh exasperatedly. “I don’t have time for this, Harry,” Draco said. Harry hugged him fully, licking his neck. He closed his eyes when Draco stiffened. “Harry, Astoria will see that. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to smell you on me, as well,” Draco said dryly.

 

Harry released Draco quickly, as though burned. He took a deep breath, willed the wetness in his eyes dissipate, and smiled brightly at him. “Right. Sorry,” he said, sidestepping to let Draco through. “See you later, Draco.” He moved to kiss Draco on the cheek but managed to stop himself in time.

 

“See you, Harry,” Draco said. Then he’s gone.

 

Harry collapsed on a chair, unwilling to break down. Draco had been acting like that for almost two months now. He didn’t know what he did. Draco just said he’s tired, or that he thinks Astoria knows about them, or that it’s work-related. But Harry can feel it’s not and the not knowing is killing him.

 

It’s been over four years since Harry and Draco started this dalliance. Over those years, Harry’s sure he’d heard all variations of  _I’m leaving her for you_  from Draco. Harry knew it was stupid to hope he’d do what he says but sometimes, Harry fantasizes coming home and finding Draco in his flat, handing him a champagne flute and a stack of papers.  _We’re divorced, Harry_ , dream-Draco would say, then, he’d get on one knee, take out a ring from his breast pocket and ask Harry to marry him. In these dreams, Harry always said yes.

 

He was woken from his musings when the door opened. He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeves. Draco looked at him, eyes wide and frantic. Harry smiled, expecting Draco to apologize for being a shitty boyfriend these past weeks and kissing Harry and telling him he’ll stay for the weekend. But, Draco’s gaze just swept over him, his eyes searching. Draco rushed to the center table and sighed in relief.

 

“I thought I’d lost it.” In his hand was his marriage ring.

 

 “He’s never gonna leave her, is he?”

 

Harry looked over at his two best friends who exchanged looks. Ron took a deep breath and, with a nod from Hermione, handed Harry a copy of  _The Evening Prophet_. “You probably haven’t seen it yet. We’ve only just known,” Ron said, slowly.

 

Harry felt his heart stop beating. It can’t be true. The room started spinning around him. He does not remember standing up. He can hear Hermione and Ron saying his name. But none of it mattered now.

 

Slowly, the newspaper fell to the floor with a soft thud.

 

There, on the front page, was a picture of Draco and Astoria, beneath the headline, “ _Malfoys with child_.”

 

-fin-


End file.
